A right Royal day

Thursday 14th November

The night before, jumping the gun slightly and more than impressed with our new flat, we talked about the possibility of making this a home. Maybe we'd take the opportunity to stay here a while. We'd give it a few days and if we were still happy, we'd stay.

We hired some pushbikes and headed in the early morning heat towards the sea. We found the famous Chinese fishing nets. With calls for "photo, photo" coming from them, we averted our eyes and found the fish. Big prawns, bigger prawns, and massive prawns sat alongside tuna, snapper, pomfret, and even shark, all on offer at the stall labeled 'T.S Fishing' and kept in big bowls of ice.

We spoke to the man, who was super friendly and super happy, which I’m happy to say is a theme of Cochinians and hopefully Keralans. We walked up and down the front to find more stands selling more of the same, but none quite had the same charm (or fly-free fish).

We headed to a blue tarpaulin hut about 200m from the stalls. We’d asked our man at T.S the best place to eat breakfast, and as usual, he recommended the standard tourist hotel selling awful Western-ish breakfasts for a lot of money. We had to explain we wanted local breakfast—"20 rupee breakfast"—and he had pointed, eyes shining and face smiling, at the tarpaulined place.

We were met by another happy-as-Larry character and asked him what we should have. I had chickpea curry with parotta, and Suzie had egg masala with parotta. We also indulged in masala chai and what we think is sweet bread fried in ghee. The place was busy with locals, the food was great, and the price was amazing. We told him we’d be back tomorrow.

A few months ago, I would have instantly thrown up at the thought of curry for breakfast, but actually, it’s pretty good. We’re currently working our way up to fish curry for breakfast. We’ll let you know how it goes.

After breakfast, we headed back to our new fishy friend. We explained that we’d be here for a while and that if he gave us a good local price and a few extra prawns every now and again, we’d come back every day. He liked the idea and gave us a mass of huge tiger prawns, something Suzie delighted in.

Heading back quickly, afraid the sun would ruin the shellfish, we asked our hosts if we could borrow their fridge, which they obliged.

The night before, we’d been accosted by a tuk-tuk driver who’d said Prince Charles was coming not only to India, not only Kerala, but to Cochin—the tiny Portuguese fort of Cochin—for his birthday. He asked if we could do him a very special favor. The local supermarket was giving away coupons for free petrol. If we could just go with him, he could get some free petrol, and in return, we would get a free tour of the synagogue.

I laughed in his face. "Yeah right… no thanks, mate, we’re not stupid." We walked off, and Suzie said, "He is in India. Maybe he is coming here?" Laughing, I replied, "Don’t be so silly. Course he’s not. There’s no way Prince Charles is coming here."

After putting our dinner in their fridge, our guesthouse owners also gave us a newspaper and pointed excitedly to the front page, where there was a large picture of Prince Charles. Printed in English, the headline read: "Prince Charles to Celebrate Birthday Today in Fort Cochin."

Suzie was super excited and convinced me it would be fun to go check it out. Only 5 km away, we could bike it, and we could get a SIM card on the way. We were stopped about 100m from the synagogue by the police. There were people walking closer, so we ditched our bikes and got into the melee by foot. About 100 Indians were lining the street, all very excited. A few were peering over the wall to the now-closed-to-the-public synagogue.

We squeezed our way in and saw security and photographers, but no royals. We asked a policeman if we could get closer. I offered him some money (in jest), and he jovially declined but told us Prince Charles was coming soon, and we could see him from where we stood.

We got chatting to the locals, who were delighted when we told them that:

1. We were British, and
2. The closest we’d got to seeing Prince Charles was in India.

One lanky Indian in particular was highly amused, poking and shaking anyone new and telling them we were British. His big smile and amusement were infectious.

Suddenly, His Majesty the Prince got out of a car and made his way up the steps about 150m from where we were standing. Suzie got a rubbish snap. We moved along the street and had a word with the secret police. I told the man at the gate with the walkie-talkie that Prince Charles owed me some money and that we were mates, so I needed to see him to get it back. He wasn’t amused, didn’t let us in, but did tell us the best spot to stand.

After another 10 minutes or so, we heard hushed excitement. Everyone lined the roads, quietly and carefully, and a lone goat trotting carefree down the middle lightened the mood.

Then we saw him. I thought, if I get the chance, I’ll say hello. He walked slowly, smiling and gesturing, up the road, and everyone was in complete silence. He came close, close enough to make eye contact. He did what every white person does when they come across another in a country where you’re a minority: gave a little nod of recognition, followed swiftly by a ‘namaste’ greeting with a small prayer-like bow to me.

Seizing the opportunity but forgetting etiquette, I said, "Alright, Charles?" With big jug ears and a big friendly open face, he looked pleased and recognised my English was native. "Just visiting?" Now I wish I’d said something funny or witty, like, "No, Charlie, my ‘ol china, I was born here" (or something better), but I didn’t. I just said, "Yeah, we are, yeah." Then he asked, quite weirdly, where I was shopping… and I told him, "In here," pointing behind me.

And that was that. My conversation with The Prince was awkward, boring small talk, but it was good fun. Anyway, it was 50% his fault.

We cycled around trying to find Rick Stein’s wood-fired oven restaurant with Keralan specialties. After cycling half the island and stumbling across newborn kittens on a wall, we stopped at an Italian to use their Wi-Fi. The owner caught us but kindly offered guava juice while helping us look up the place. His honesty and charm made us stay.

Back home, we finished the day with gin, tonic, sunset, and prawns—a perfect end to a perfect day. We’d decided: this already felt like home, and we’d stay for at least another two weeks.

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